Whose the Patient Anyways?
by Scottish Bluebell
Summary: Teenage Sherlock has once again been forced by Mycroft to see a psychologist. It seems though that while life may be complicated for Sherlock, he's more interested in being the doctor than the patient. Rated T just in case because this is Sherlock and I may be writing this, but it doesn't mean I have control over his character.


Well here's an attempt at a younger Sherlock, confronted with yet another psychologist his brother has sent him to. This is a sort of introduction to the idea and I may or may not complete it. This will probably be revised though. Also note that I do not own Sherlock, Sherlock belongs to BBC.

* * *

Dr. Verity Dunsfeld looked up from the file on her lap. The distinct click of the downturned door handle releasing the latch had caught her attention. Her eyes came to rest on the hesitant figure behind the glass. She glanced back down at the file, just for a moment, then back through the glass. The fifteen year old boy walked in, his piercing green-grey eyes racing up and down the room, occasionally resting for a second on something then moving on. He and the teenager in the file were one and the same. Putting on a smile and sliding the now closed file into a drawer she stood to greet him.

"Hello, Sherlock. I'm…"

"Dr. Dunsfeld, Verity Dunsfeld," The boy cut in and with a sigh, collapsed into the chair.

For just a moment a bit of confusion crept onto her face but she wiped it away in an instant, replacing it with a steely calm.

"Did…" the doctor began to speak again but was sharply interrupted.

"No Mycroft didn't tell me who you were or even that this is where we were coming. Of course I knew there'd be another psychologist after everything but Mycroft was trying oh so hard to hide it. Didn't write it down, got someone else to make the calls; he's finally starting to realize that the only place specifics are safe are in his mind. Not that I need specifics." Sherlock went quiet and then looked at the woman who had sat back down, waiting for her to ask.

He was spiteful and cocky, this new patient acting as if he knew everything. She could see he was begging her to let him show off. Most of her younger patients resisted immediate contact and while she knew she shouldn't encourage the behavior, it was a gate way.

"So how did you figure out my name?" her tone was inquisitive and gentle inviting response, but he certainly didn't need any incentive.

"It was rather obvious. The binder the secretary opened when we got here containing patient schedules had your name written on the spine. Then there's your stationary. It's custom-made with your name written in the corners. It would have been simpler and duller if your name had been on the door but then there is no door plaque, which also makes me think that this isn't solely your office, which is obvious from your chair. You don't look comfortable in it and it is quite obvious from the state of the cushioned back that someone else sits in it regularly. It's got the impression of a back wider than yours but even if it was the right size it still wouldn't be you, you're much too short. You always sit closer to the edge with one leg over the other because the chair goes too far back for you to sit comfortably with your legs hanging over. Deduction: this space is shared and you don't plan to stay long because money is tight because of reduced hours. Trying to keep up appearances though, which brings us back to the custom notebook. Custom notebook but the pen you're toying with is cheap and the same type as the one the secretary up front uses, so you probably snatched a few from there. Conclusion: you've got some type of debt, probably student loans, and are struggling to keep up appearances to gain respect in the business. Am I right?" His voice had raced through the words and assumption without faltering, and though he constantly kept his eyes on her he gestured constantly at things of importance.

It was almost more shocking when the Holmes boy closed his mouth than all he had said. He was indeed spot on and she wasn't quite sure how to respond and bring them back to the reason of their meeting. Mercifully she was met by a quick distraction as the phone went off in her pocket.

**By now my brother has probably made a fool of you or at least said some very tactless things. Remind him for me that it's about him not you. – MH**

* * *

Reviews will be appreciated to an extreme. I'll probably write another chapter or so for this tomorrow.


End file.
